The Bride Next Door
Winnie Griggs
LOVE THY NEIGHBOR?After years of wandering, Daisy Johnson hopes to settle in Turnabout, Texas, open a restaurant, perhaps find a husband. Of course, she’d envisioned a man who actually likes her. Not someone who offers a marriage of convenience to avoid scandal.Turnabout is just a temporary stop for newspaper reporter Everett Fulton. Thanks to one pesky connecting door and a local gossip, he’s suddenly married, but his dreams of leaving haven’t changed. What Daisy wants—home, family, tenderness—he can’t provide. Yet big-city plans are starting to pale beside small-town warmth… Texas Grooms: In search of their brides…
Love Thy Neighbor?
After years of wandering, Daisy Johnson hopes to settle in Turnabout, Texas, open a restaurant, perhaps find a husband. Of course, she’d envisioned a man who actually likes her. Not someone who offers a marriage of convenience to avoid scandal.
Turnabout is just a temporary stop for newspaper reporter Everett Fulton. Thanks to one pesky connecting door and a local gossip, he’s suddenly married, but his dreams of leaving haven’t changed. What Daisy wants—home, family, tenderness—he can’t provide. Yet big-city plans are starting to pale beside small-town warmth….
“There is some talk already circulating around town.”
Daisy rubbed her cheek, trying to take in what this meant. “Be honest with me—how bad is it?”
“To speak bluntly, our reputations will be tarnished, and it may very well spill over onto Abigail, as well.”
Her spirits sank. Was her dream of being a welcomed member of the community over so soon? She wouldn’t accept that. “But surely if we just go on about our business, in time the rumors will die down.”
Everett shook his head.“I wish that were true. But this sort of thing can take on a life of its own, and folks have long memories. Believe me, I know.”
“Then what do you suggest we do?”
“There’s only one thing we can do—you and I must immediately announce our engagement.”
Daisy halted in her tracks and stared at him, not sure she’d heard correctly. Was he serious? The only hint of emotion she could see in his face, however, was that irritating hint of cynical amusement he wore like armor.
WINNIE GRIGGS
is a city girl born and raised in southeast Louisiana’s Cajun Country who grew up to marry a country boy from the hills of northwest Louisiana. Though her Prince Charming (who often wears the guise of a cattle rancher) is more comfortable riding a tractor than a white steed, the two of them have been living their own happily-ever-after for more than thirty years. During that time they raised four proud-to-call-them-mine children and a too-numerous-to-count assortment of dogs, cats, fish, hamsters, turtles and 4-H sheep.
Winnie has held a job at a utility company since she graduated from college. She saw her first novel hit bookstores in 2001. In addition to her day job and writing career, Winnie serves on committees within her church and on the executive boards and committees of several writing organizations, and she is active in local civic organizations—she truly believes the adage that you reap in proportion to what you sow.
In addition to writing and reading, Winnie enjoys spending time with her family, cooking and exploring flea markets. Readers can contact Winnie at P.O. Box 14, Plain Dealing, LA 71064, or email her at winnie@winniegriggs.com.
The Bride Next Door
Winnie Griggs
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Do not store up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moths and vermin destroy, and where thieves break in and steal. But store up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where moths and vermin do not destroy, and where thieves do not break in and steal. For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.
—Matthew 6:19–21
To my accountability partner, Sherrie, who helped me stay on track as I was writing this book. And to my sister Tammy, who took the time from her busy schedule to read the finished product and give me her honest feedback.
Contents
Chapter One (#u6ba4cada-53f4-5420-81df-c47b15243846)
Chapter Two (#ued0dcf54-921f-5a6b-85cc-3a7af82a02f2)
Chapter Three (#uac690db2-dfbd-5b85-9605-23595f45d19b)
Chapter Four (#ud9d8a83c-6711-538e-9836-c2d99d53866d)
Chapter Five (#uec257d37-1f55-5a18-b051-70e483ad406d)
Chapter Six (#u445031a1-dd86-513f-823c-1851db3df095)
Chapter Seven (#u60a2f473-d799-51c4-b5fd-58ca99d323f7)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nineteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-One (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Two (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Three (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Four (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)
Dear Reader (#litres_trial_promo)
Questions for Dicussion (#litres_trial_promo)
Excerpt (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter One
Turnabout, Texas, April 1895
The ornery, splinter-ridden door refused to budge, no matter how hard she shoved. Or how hard she glared.
Daisy Johnson stood on the darkened sidewalk, glowering at the weathered barricade that stood between herself and her new home. She absently scratched a splinter from her thumb as she glanced down at the black-and-white dog sitting patiently at her heels. “Don’t worry, Kip. I’m going to get us inside, one way or the other.”
Kip gave her a supportive yip, then began scratching his side.
A noise from over to her left caught Daisy’s attention. Down the street, a shadowy figure exited the livery and headed unsteadily down the sidewalk toward the hotel. Probably coming from one of the poker games the locals held there—an activity she was unfortunately all too familiar with.
Other than that, things were quiet. Which was fine by her. Kip was the only company she needed tonight.
Daisy spared a quick glance at the adjoining building, which housed the newspaper office, and thought briefly about knocking on the door to see if she could borrow something to use as a pry bar. But she discarded the thought almost before it had fully formed. Not only was the hour late, but from what she recalled about the man who owned the place, he was an uppity gent with a highfalutin accent of some sort. His attitude reminded her too much of her grandmother. Not the sort who would take kindly to being roused from sleep. Or someone she’d want to owe any favors.
Turning back to the stubbornly closed door, she jutted her chin out and tilted her hat back. No warped slab of lumber was going to get the better of her, not when she was so close to her goal.
Using her foot to shove aside one of the rotten boards she’d pried from across the door frame, Daisy jiggled the key and turned the knob again. There was just enough light coming from the glow of the nearby streetlamp to confirm the door wasn’t locked. Which meant it was just stuck.
“If you think you can out-ornery me,” she muttered at the door as she rolled up her sleeves, “then you better think again.” With that, she took firmer hold of the knob, twisted it as far as it would go, and led with her shoulder as she rammed against the door. Kip stopped scratching and gave her a you-can-do-it bark.
The door held a moment longer, then scraped noisily open a few inches. Progress. But not enough. Kip might be able to squeeze through that opening, but not her.
Steeling herself, Daisy threw her shoulder into it one more time, grunting at the impact. With a last creak of protest, the door gave up its fight and opened wide enough to allow her to pass.
With a triumphant grin and a prickling of anticipation, Daisy retrieved her pack, tossed her bedroll up on her shoulder and met Kip’s curious glance. “This is it, boy. We’re home.”
With a deep breath, Daisy took her first step inside the building, Kip at her heels. The room was mostly cloaked in shadows, illuminated only by what light filtered in from the streetlamp, and it took a few moments for her eyes to adjust.
As she surveyed what little she could see of the room, her grin disappeared. “Jehoshaphat!” She’d spent the night in abandoned barns that were cleaner and neater than this place.
Striding farther into the room, Daisy muttered a few unladylike epithets under her breath as she batted at cobwebs and felt things crunch beneath her boots that she wasn’t ready to examine more closely.
She spied a lamp sitting on the counter and was relieved to find a bit of oil still in the base. It took several attempts, but she finally managed to get it lit and then took a closer look around.
She could hear Kip sniffling around, picking up goodness only knew what kind of scents. A couple of loud doggy sneezes confirmed that it was as dusty at his level as it was at hers.
She hadn’t expected a servant-scrubbed palace, but hang it all, she’d hoped to find something in a little better condition than this. No wonder the previous owner had been so quick to gamble it away.
She started to close the outer door, then changed her mind. It wouldn’t hurt to leave it open for a little while to help air out the place.
Daisy tromped across the room, ignoring the skittery scrambling sounds coming from just outside the circle of lamplight. Hopefully, whatever critters had taken up residence in here were on their way out. Still, she was glad for Kip’s company.
The back room wasn’t much better than the front. In the yellowish light of the lamp, she could see dust, debris and a smattering of rickety furniture scattered higgledy-piggledy across the space. Daisy kicked at an old sack lying in her path, then let out an explosive sneeze as a cloud of dust billowed up in her face.
Great! This was just pointy-fanged-rattlesnake perfect.
She fanned the air in front of her between sneezes. Why should the day end even a gnat-speck better than it had started?
Then she caught herself up short. Not that I’m complaining, mind You, Lord. I know You answered my prayers in a powerful way when You took Pa’s weakness for gambling and turned it to good by providing me with the deed to this building. And I truly am mighty grateful. Besides, I do know there’s nothing wrong with this place that a bit of honest sweat and elbow grease won’t fix up just fine and dandy. You’ve done Your part, and now I aim to do mine.
Daisy looked around again. Make that a lot of elbow grease.
But that didn’t scare her none. No, sir. The place was more than roomy enough for what she had in mind. She could already picture how it would look all cleaned up and put to rights. It would be so wonderful to have a place of her own, a place to set down roots and build a proper life. And to finally make some genuine friends of her very own.
And maybe, if she was very, very good, she could have a family of her very own one day, as well.
I know, Lord, baby steps. I asked for a family of my own, and instead, You gave me the seeds of one by providing a means for me to settle down in one place. I’m going to do my best to make myself an acceptable helpmeet in the eyes of some God-fearing man. I promise to look past appearance, manner and finances to see the heart of whoever You send my way.
Feeling focused and enthusiastic once more, Daisy went back to work. First order of business was to clear herself out a place to sleep. There was no way she could lie down in the midst of this gritty, grimy, cluttered mess, so if she was going to get a good night’s rest, she’d best start cleaning.
She tested the soundness of a crate near the doorway, then set the lamp and bedroll down. Plopping her hat and pack beside them, she rolled up her sleeves. No time like the present to get started.
* * *
Everett Fulton forced his heavy eyelids open, peering blearily around his darkened room. The faint memory of his dream lingered a moment—childhood images of his home in England. Already it was fading, leaving him to wonder if the muffled clatter that had awakened him had been real or only part of his dream.
A moment later, another series of thuds answered the question.
Jerked to full awareness, he tossed off the covers and swiveled so that his feet hit the floor.
It sounded as if someone was rummaging around downstairs. If the not-so-stealthy intruder did any harm to his printing press...
Swiftly crossing the room, Everett paused only long enough to pull on a pair of pants and retrieve the iron poker that rested against the cold fireplace.
Just because he didn’t own a gun didn’t mean he couldn’t defend himself.
Without bothering with a lamp, Everett stole down the stairs, carefully avoiding the fourth tread that had an annoying tendency to creak. His ears strained for some sign of just where his trespasser might be lurking.
He moved to the larger front room first, the room that housed his printing press and served as his office. A faint light filtered in from the large window that faced the street. His gaze went immediately to the bulky shadow that was his printing press. Most of the type was already laboriously set for this week’s paper. He would have no compunction whatsoever in trouncing anyone who dared tamper with his work.
Everett’s brow furrowed. All was quiet now, but he’d been certain the noise had come from down here. And everything seemed as he’d left it when he locked the doors and headed upstairs earlier.
Tightening his grip on the poker, he eased farther into the room. Taking a deep breath, he sprang around the corner of the press, his makeshift weapon raised. “Ha!”
But no thug crouched behind the machine’s shadowy bulk.
Feeling foolish, he lowered his arm. Had he misjudged the direction the disturbance had come from? Everett turned to his desk, a sour smile tugging at his lips. If the intruder was after a cash box, he would be sadly disappointed.
Nothing.
He moved into the back room where he stored his blank paper and other supplies, but again, nothing.
Everett rubbed his neck, slowly exiting the room. Maybe he’d imagined the whole thing, after all.
Scriiittch.
He swung back around. It sounded as if something heavy were being dragged across the floor. He approached the far wall cautiously, then heard it again.
The noise was coming from the other side. Someone was in the adjoining building.
He frowned. The supposedly vacant adjoining building.
He’d never been inside, but understood the building didn’t house anything more valuable than cobwebs and a jumble of rubbish and cast-off furnishings. What possible reason could someone have for rattling around in there in the middle of the night?
Everett shrugged and moved back toward the stairs. Other than the annoyance of having his sleep disturbed, it wasn’t any of his concern.
Then he stilled. Except that there might be a story in it. Something more newsworthy than births, deaths and barn raisings for a change. Since he was already awake, it couldn’t hurt to check things out. His pulse accelerated at the idea of a real story, a chance to resume his role as reporter rather than mere transcriber and typesetter. It had been quite a while...
Everett hurried upstairs, donned a shirt and shoes, then padded lightly down again.
He still carried the poker. Not that he intended to use it unless he had need to defend himself.
He was a reporter, after all, not a confounded hero.
Stepping onto the plank sidewalk, Everett paused a moment to listen. Somewhere in the distance, a dog barked and was answered by a second mutt. Four blocks away he could see light seeping from the windows of the livery. An ash-colored moth lazily circled the nearby streetlamp.
Other than that, everything was quiet. Enough light filtered down from the streetlamps and gauze-covered half moon that he could see the building next door easily.
He moved forward, studying the front of the run-down establishment. The boards that had barred the door were now lying on the sidewalk against the building, and the door itself gaped open.
He peered in, but it was too shadowy to make out anything but irregular shapes. However, he did notice a yellowish light emanating from the back room—the area where the sounds had come from.
Was it a squatter? Or a misguided thief?
Everett hesitated, listening to the scrapes and muffled grunts, torn between his reporter’s instinct to find out the truth of the matter and the niggling voice that told him he’d be wise to arm himself with more than a poker before proceeding.
Besides, what if it was Gus Ferguson, the building’s owner? Gus was a crotchety old hermit who kept to himself, except for the occasional trip to town to get supplies and indulge in a bit of drinking and poker playing. In the nine months Everett had resided in Turnabout, he’d never seen Gus look twice at the place, much less go inside. Why would the man choose this unlikely time to come here? Unless he’d decided to stop in after tonight’s poker game.
Perhaps it would be best if he just quietly slipped away and forgot the whole thing.
Everett winced at the sound of falling crates. The sound of a woman crying out, however, had him through the door as if shot from a pistol. And was that a dog yapping?
He swallowed a yelp as he bumped his knee against the edge of a sagging counter. He kept going, though, albeit with somewhat impaired agility.
Charging into the back room, the first thing he spied was the rubble of storage shelves that had given way, dumping splintered lumber and unidentifiable contents in a dusty heap.
A grumbled humph drew his attention to a woman sitting on the floor, trying to pull her foot free of the mess.
“I’m okay, Kip. But as for this worm-ridden, rickety pile of junk, the only thing it’s good for is kindling.”
Everett recognized the voice before he got a good look at her face—it had a distinctive lilt to it and boasted a slight accent that he couldn’t quite place, but was unmistakable.
Daisy Johnson. What in the world was the peddler’s daughter doing here? She and her father had left town two weeks ago.
Miss Johnson looked up and recognized him at the same time. “Mr. Fulton. What’re you doing in here?”
“Apparently rescuing a damsel in distress.” Still concerned about her predicament, Everett crossed to her in long strides.
The dog seemed to take exception to his approach and assumed a stiff-legged, curled-lip stance in front of Miss Johnson.
“It’s okay, Kip,” she said, giving the dog a reassuring pat. Then she turned a frown on him. “I’m not a damsel. And I’m not in distress. My ankle just got caught under this mess, is all.”
Did she even know what distress meant? “Let me give you a hand with that.” Not bothering to wait for an answer, he heaved up on the piece her foot was trapped beneath, allowing her to free herself, all the while keeping a wary eye on the dog. And the dog returned his look, stare for stare.
Once she’d shifted her leg away from danger, he set the offending shelving back down. Then he knelt beside her, doing his best to ignore the dust and grime that surrounded him. “Allow me,” he said, taking over the job of unlacing her boot.
“There’s really no need,” she protested, trying to push away his hands. “I can do that—”
He gave her his best don’t-argue-with-me stare. “Be still, please. You’re stirring up more dust, and I’d rather not succumb to a fit of sneezing.”
She paused, an abashed look on her face.
Good. He’d gotten through to her for the moment. Time to drive his point home. “It’s important to make certain you’re not badly injured before you try to stand. Or would you prefer I ask Dr. Pratt to take a look at you?”
His words had the opposite effect of what he’d expected. She glared at him. “There’s no need to be so snippy. And no, I do not prefer to have you bother the doc at this late hour over a few bruises.”
Snippy? Didn’t the girl recognize authority when she heard it? Clenching his jaw to contain his irritation, he gently slid the worn, dirty bit of footwear, including her stocking, off her foot. He studied her ankle, unhappy with what he saw. “It’s already starting to swell and darken. It might be wise to have Dr. Pratt take a look at you, after all.”
“Glory be!” She brushed his hands away and smoothed down her skirts. “It’s nothing more than a bad bruise.” She flexed her ankle to prove her point, but he noticed the wince she couldn’t quite hide. “It’ll be fine by morning,” she insisted.
Everett leaned back on his heels. He wasn’t going to force the issue. After all, he wasn’t her keeper—nor did he want to be. “Mind if I ask what you’re doing in here?”
“I was trying to clear the way to the back door so I could open it up and air out the place.”
Was she being deliberately obtuse? “I mean, why are you in here in the first place?”
She tilted her chin up. “Not that it’s any of your business, but I’m cleaning the place up so Kip and I don’t have to sleep in the middle of this rubbish and dirt.”
He resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Daisy Johnson’s lack of ladylike sensibilities went beyond the unrefined rustic “charm” that he’d grown to expect from the women of this backwater that circumstances had forced him to call home for the present. She was outspoken, obviously uneducated and her manner was rough and belligerent.
“It is my business if you wake me up from a sound sleep in the middle of the night,” he countered.
At least she had the grace to blush at that. “Oh. Sorry. I wasn’t thinking about the racket reaching over to you.”
He stood and offered a hand to help her up. “Apology accepted. As long as you cease and desist until a more civilized hour.”
“Fair enough.”
He noticed another quickly suppressed wince as she put weight on the injured foot, but she didn’t utter a sound.
“If you won’t see the doctor,” he said, keeping a hand at her elbow, “at least tell me where your father is so I can fetch him to tend to you.” The sooner he could turn her over to someone else and return to the comfort of his bed, the better.
She tugged her arm out of his grasp and hobbled over to a nearby crate to sit down. He grimaced at the little cloud of dust that rose as she settled.
“I reckon he’s halfway to the Louisiana border by now,” she answered, reaching down to scratch her scruffy-looking dog.
Had her father abandoned her? Despite himself, Everett felt a stirring of sympathy. He spied the bedroll next to the lamp. “So you broke in here looking for a place to spend the night.”
She shifted as if to find a more comfortable position for her foot, and he saw a snatch of cobweb caught in her tawny hair. He had an unexpected urge to brush it away, but quickly shook off the impulse.
“I aim to spend more than the night here,” she said with a smile.
Did she intend to claim squatter’s rights? Well, it was her bad luck that the building already had an owner. “Despite the way this place looks,” he said, trying to let her down gently, “it’s not abandoned. And I’m afraid the owner might not look favorably on your plans to take up residence.”
“That’s where you’d be wrong.” There was a decidedly smug look to her smile. “I’m the owner, and I don’t have a problem with it at all.”
Chapter Two
Everett stared at her, feeling his momentary sympathy fade. Had he heard correctly? But there she sat, like a queen on her dusty throne. How could that be? “Last I heard, Gus Ferguson owned this place.” He managed to keep his tone neutral.
“He did.” She gave a self-satisfied smile. “Until he lost it to my father in a poker game.”
A poker game? That shouldn’t surprise him as much as it did. “And your father, in turn, gave it to you, I suppose.”
She brushed at her skirt, not quite meeting his gaze. “Let’s just say he owed it to me.”
A cryptic turn of phrase, but he brushed aside his curiosity for now. There were more important matters to get to the bottom of. “If you don’t mind my asking, what are your plans for the place?” If she was going to be his neighbor, he wanted some idea as to what he was going to be in for.
“I’m going to set up my business here.”
Not the answer he’d expected. “What kind of business?”
From the look she gave him, he surmised some of his displeasure had come through in his tone.
“Well,” she replied, eyeing him carefully, “I eventually want to open a restaurant.”
She was just full of surprises. “You know how to cook?”
Her brown eyes narrowed, and her smudged chin tilted up. “You don’t have to say it like that. I happen to be a great cook—everybody says so.”
Just who did everybody include—her father and dog, perhaps? Then he took a very pointed look around him. “A restaurant—in here?”
“Of course I won’t be able to open it right away.” Her voice was less confident now. “I’ll need to earn some money first so I can fix this place up and furnish it proper. And of course I’ll need to buy a good stove.”
She didn’t seem particularly daunted by the task ahead of her. “And how do you intend to do that? Earn the money, I mean.”
She shrugged. “I’m not my father’s daughter for nothing. I’ll figure something out.”
Her father’s daughter—did that mean she planned to try her luck in the poker game over at the livery?
She rotated her neck, and Everett saw signs of fatigue beneath her bravado. For the first time, he wondered about the particulars of her arrival. “If your father didn’t come back to Turnabout with you, how did you get here?”
“I walked, mostly.” Then she grinned proudly. “Made it in three days.”
Her father had allowed her to take a three-day journey alone and on foot? Everett felt incensed on her behalf. Had the peddler given any thought at all to what might have happened? The man should be thoroughly trounced.
A suspicious rumbling from the vicinity of her stomach brought up another question. When had she last eaten?
The faint pinkening of her cheeks was the only acknowledgment she made of the unladylike noise. “Right now, though,” she said quickly, “I’m just going to clean up a spot where I can spread my bedroll and get some sleep while I wait for the sun to come up.”
He looked around at the layers of dust and the lack of useable furnishings. “You plan to sleep on the floor?”
“I don’t see any fancy beds in here. Do you?” Her cheerful tone lacked any hint of self-pity. “Besides, I’ve bedded down on worse.” Her pleased-with-herself grin returned. “And being as it’ll be my very first night in my very own place, I expect I’ll sleep very well.”
She placed her hands on her skirt and levered herself up. “I’m sorry I disturbed your sleep, and I thank you for checking in on me, but you can go on back to your place now. I promise Kip and I won’t be disturbing you anymore tonight.”
Apparently feeling she’d dismissed him, she turned and started picking her way across the room.
Everett contemplated her words while he watched her limp toward a relatively uncluttered spot near the wall that adjoined his place. Her state of affairs wasn’t really any of his concern, and she’d just made it abundantly clear she felt the same. She seemed content with her circumstances, and he had a busy day planned for tomorrow, so he should return to his bed and try to get what sleep he could before sunup.
But for some reason, he stood there a moment longer, watching her. His thoughts turned unaccountably to Abigail, his fifteen-year-old sister. What if she were in this situation? Which was a ridiculous thought, of course. Abigail was safely ensconced in a nice boarding school in Boston and would never find herself in a situation like this.
Still...
* * *
Daisy frowned as she heard her visitor—or was it intruder?—leave. For all his fine airs, he could be mighty rude. He’d all but said he didn’t believe her claim to being a good cook, and it was obvious he didn’t think she’d be able to open her own restaurant. And if that wasn’t bad enough, she’d seen the way he looked down his nose at her.
Reminded her of Grandmère Longpre—one was always aware when she was displeased. Of course her grandmother would never dream of being impolite. The niceties of civilized society were too important to her.
Ah, well, Mr. Fulton didn’t really know her yet, and she’d just roused him from his sleep. She couldn’t really blame him for being in a bad mood. And she shouldn’t forget that he had helped her out from under that shelving, so she should be grateful and more forgiving. As her father would say, never moon over should bes when your have nows are enough to get you by.
She’d just have to prove to Mr. Fulton and the rest of the townsfolk that she aimed to be a good, neighborly citizen of this community. Starting with making this place clean and inviting. Too bad she didn’t have a broom and mop yet. She’d need to take care of that first thing in the morning. For now, she’d just make do as best she could.
She maneuvered an empty crate next to the space where she planned to place her bedroll, wincing at the bit of noise she made. Hopefully it hadn’t been loud enough to disturb her neighbor. Again.
Once she had the crate in place, she eyed it critically, then nodded in satisfaction. “This’ll make a fine table for now—just right for setting my lamp and Mother’s Bible.”
Kip answered her with a couple thumps of his tail.
She decided her change of clothing and the rest of the meager belongings she’d brought along with her could stay in her pack until she found an appropriate and clean place to store them.
She arched her back, trying to stretch out some of the kinks. Tomorrow she’d give this place a good scrubbing, and maybe pick some wildflowers to add a bit of color. It would take a while to fix it up the way she wanted, but the cleaning and scrubbing part didn’t cost anything except time and effort.
Already, she could picture it the way she would eventually fix it up—with bright curtains on freshly washed windows and a new coat of paint on the walls. She’d have a roomy pantry and sturdy shelves built in here for all her cooking supplies, and a big, shiny, new stove over on that far wall.
She grabbed her bedroll, still thinking about the red-checkered tablecloths and the ruffled curtains she’d purchase. But before she could get the makeshift bed unrolled properly, her neighbor returned, a scowl on his face. What now?
“Mr. Fulton, I’m so sorry if I’m making too much noise again. I promise—”
He shook his head impatiently, interrupting her apology. At the same time she noticed he was carrying a broom and a cloth-wrapped bundle.
He set the broom against the wall, nodding toward it. “I thought you might be able to make use of this,” he said. Then he thrust the parcel her way. “I also brought this for you.”
His tone was short, gruff, as if he wasn’t happy. Was it with her or with himself? His accent had deepened, as well.
And more important—just what in the world had he brought her?
She gingerly unwrapped the parcel and was pleasantly surprised to find an apple, a slab of cheese and a thick slice of bread inside. “Why, thank you. This is so kind of you.”
He waved aside her thanks. “It’s just a few bits left over from my dinner.” He nodded toward the broom. “And that’s just a loan.”
That might be true, but the food seemed a veritable feast to her, and the broom would cut her work tonight in half. “Still, it’s very neighborly.” Just saying that word cheered her up.
But he still wore that impatient scowl. “Yes, well, I’ll leave you to get settled in.” He glanced at the sleeping area she’d set up and then back at her. “See that you keep the noise down.”
She smothered a sigh, wondering why he had to spoil his nice gesture with a grumpy attitude. “Of course. Good night.”
“Good night.”
As she watched him leave this time, her smile returned. Regardless of his sour expression, Mr. Fulton had been quite kind. Perhaps she’d already made her first friend.
Bowing her head, she said a quick prayer of thanks for the unexpected meal, and for the man who’d given it to her.
Then she looked down at Kip as she broke off a bit of cheese to feed him. “Look here, boy. We have a nice meal to help us really celebrate our first night in our new home. Isn’t God good?”
And, much as he tried to hide it, she was beginning to believe Mr. Fulton had some good in him, as well.
* * *
The next morning, as Everett prepared his breakfast, he could hear the sounds of his new neighbor’s renewed efforts at cleaning out her building. He certainly hoped she didn’t keep that racket up all day. Besides, did she really think she could single-handedly turn that musty, junk-cluttered place into a working restaurant?
Glancing out his window, he saw a pile of rubbish in their shared back lot that hadn’t been there yesterday. He rubbed his jaw, impressed in spite of himself at the amount of effort she’d already expended this morning. Apparently, she planned to try to make her ambitious but improbable dream a reality.
As he stuck a fork in his slightly overcooked egg, he wondered how she’d fared after he left her last night. Had she gotten any sleep at all given her less-than-ideal accommodations?
He took a sip of coffee. Perhaps he should go over and check on her this morning. Not that her welfare was his concern, but she didn’t seem to have anyone else to look out for her. And, even if it was confoundedly inconvenient, someone should make certain her ankle wasn’t any worse this morning and that she had something to eat.
When he carried his dishes to the counter he spied her through the window, dragging another load of debris to toss on her trash pile. That unfortunate-looking mutt she’d had with her last night was racing from her heels to the far end of the lot and back again.
At least she didn’t seem to be favoring her left foot. As for food, he waffled a few moments over whether to involve himself further in her business. He supposed, as long as he made it clear he expected her to fend for herself going forward, it wouldn’t hurt to offer sustenance one more time.
He’d do the gentlemanly thing and invite her up for something to eat, or at least a cup of coffee. And maybe see if she was as optimistic about her enterprise this morning as she’d been last night.
But before he could act on his decision, he saw her reappear carrying a sack and head toward the edge of town, the dog trotting beside her.
What in the world was she up to now?
Feeling slightly deflated, Everett washed his dishes and headed down to his office. Enough of this unproductive preoccupation with his neighbor. He had work to get to.
But over the next few hours he had trouble focusing on his work. He found his thoughts drifting to speculation as to where she’d gone off to and, to his irritation, caught himself listening for her return.
He supposed it was only natural to worry about any unprotected female heading out on her own in unfamiliar surroundings. No matter how far she’d walked to get here.
Everett was finally rewarded a couple of hours after her departure by the sound of her return. Minutes later, he could hear items being moved around and other evidence of her renewed efforts. Did she plan to work the entire day? He even thought he heard snatches of some cheerful but slightly off-key humming a time or two. It appeared that, no matter what other qualities Miss Johnson might have, she wasn’t afraid of hard work.
And apparently, word of the new arrival had spread through town. There was a steady parade of folks strolling past his glass-fronted office, and stopping by his neighbor’s place. With all the interest Miss Johnson was garnering, he wondered just how much work she was actually managing to get done.
He resisted the urge to walk over and see for himself. The impulse had been born of his desire to check on how she was faring after last night’s rough start, but she apparently had plenty of drop-in visitors to assist her now.
Near noon, Everett was on his knees in front of his type cabinet, picking up the bits of type that had scattered when he dropped a tray. He blamed the incident on Miss Johnson, or rather the bothersome distraction she’d become. That and his interrupted sleep last night—also her fault—were the most likely culprits for his lack of focus today.
All he needed was an uninterrupted night’s sleep tonight; then he’d be as efficient as ever tomorrow.
He was just putting the last piece back in place when his office door opened. He glanced up to see Adam Barr, one of the three men who’d traveled with him from Philadelphia to Turnabout last summer.
Everett pushed to his feet, at the same time pushing away his faint disappointment. He took a moment to slide the tray back into place and then greeted his visitor.
“You’re early today,” he said as he grabbed a rag to wipe his hands. Most days, Adam stopped by on his way back to the bank after having lunch at home with his wife, Reggie. He and Adam had an ongoing chess game that they both enjoyed and took quite seriously.
“Reggie has my afternoon planned out for me,” Adam responded. “Jack’s seventh birthday is tomorrow, and she wants my help planning a small surprise for him.”
Jack was Reggie’s nephew, and she and Adam had adopted him after their marriage last fall.
Adam headed toward the chessboard that was set up on the far end of the room with their game. “If I remember correctly, it was my move.”
Everett followed him. “It was. And I’m looking forward to seeing how you’ll answer my last move.”
Adam sat down, studying the board. “I hear you have a new neighbor,” he said as he fingered one of the pawns he’d captured.
“Word gets around fast. If you haven’t heard a name yet, it’s Daisy Johnson. You remember her—the daughter of the peddler who was arrested for stealing the money from the fair last year.” Adam had been instrumental in getting the man cleared of the charges.
“Falsely arrested,” Adam corrected. “Yes, I remember her. Spirited young lady, if I recall.”
Everett agreed with that assessment but decided to change the subject. “So how is Reggie faring?”
“As stubborn as ever. She refuses to accept that she needs to curtail her more vigorous activities until the baby comes.”
Adam set down the captured pawn and slid his bishop across the board. “There,” he said as he stood. “That should keep you busy for a while.”
Before Everett could study the move, the door opened and in came his new neighbor, carrying the broom he’d loaned her last night, and a small parcel.
While she still wore a dress that had seen better days, there was a pleased-with-the-world smile on her face that overshadowed her dearth of fashion sense. From the bounce in her step it appeared she’d managed to sleep just fine last night. There was no hint of cobwebs in her hair this morning; rather, it was well combed and neatly pulled back in a loose bun.
And, like a shadow, her dog was once more right beside her. In the daylight, the animal looked only marginally more presentable than he had last night. Black and white with a shaggy coat, the mutt had obviously led a less-than-pampered life. One ear was torn, and there was an old scar on one hind leg. And if Everett wasn’t mistaken, the dog had one blue and one brown eye. Very disconcerting.
He took all that in within the few seconds following her entrance. It was the reporter in him, trained to notice even the smallest of details.
That quickening of his pulse—that was due to nothing more than curiosity as to what had brought her to his office.
Chapter Three
Daisy paused when she saw that Mr. Fulton wasn’t alone. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you were busy.”
Mr. Fulton’s visitor turned, and she smiled in recognition. “Mr. Barr! How nice to see you again.”
Adam executed a short bow. “The pleasure is mine. I understand you’ve decided to take up residence in our fair town. Let me add my welcome to the others I’m sure you’ve already received.”
Now this welcome seemed genuine. “Thank you. I’m looking forward to setting down roots here.” The idea of finally having a permanent home was more than enough to carry her through all the work ahead of her.
“I’m sure I speak for my wife as well as myself when I say we’d be pleased to have you join us for supper one evening when you’re available.”
Her cheeks warmed in pleasure. “Why, thank you. I’d like that.”
“Be sure to let me know if you need help getting settled in.” Then Adam turned back to Everett. “It’s time I headed home. I’ll be back tomorrow, same time as usual, to see if you’ve figured out your next move.” He tipped his hat her way. “Enjoyed seeing you, Miss Johnson. Good day.”
Once he’d departed, Daisy felt her smile grow a bit more forced.
Which was totally unfair. After all, Mr. Fulton had been more than kind to her last night—in his own way, of course. But it was hard to remember that kindness when his disapproving demeanor reminded her so much of her grandmother.
“I don’t allow animals in my office,” he said stiffly.
He certainly wasn’t making it easy for her to remember his kindness. “I gave him a bath out by the stream this morning.” She did her best to keep her tone light. “And I assure you he’s very well-behaved. So he won’t leave tracks on your floor or bother any of your things.”
“Nice to know, but I still don’t allow animals in here.”
She sighed, then looked down at Kip. “You heard the man, boy. You’ll have to wait outside.” She opened the door and, meeting the animal’s gaze, tried to smile reassuringly as she pointed to the sidewalk. Kip, tail drooping, slowly exited. “I won’t be long.”
She turned back to Mr. Fulton and had to rein in the urge to glare outright.
But he apparently had no idea what she was feeling because he wore that infuriatingly condescending look on his face.
“You talk to that animal as if he understands you,” he said.
“Because he does.” She lifted her chin. “If not the words, then at least the feelings behind them. Dogs are smarter than most folks give them credit for.”
Mr. Fulton strode forward. “I trust your foot is better this morning?”
The thoughtful question put her more at ease. “Yes, thank you, good as new.” Then, remembering her reason for coming over, she thrust out the broom. “I wanted to bring this back in case you were needing it. I sure appreciate you loaning it to me. There was a wagonload of dirt that needed sweeping out of that place.”
He accepted the cleaning implement and set it against the wall. Then he waved her to a chair in front of his desk. “So you’re finished cleaning.”
If only that were true. “Afraid not. It’s going to take more than one day to take care of all that needs doing. But I made a good start.” She took the seat he’d indicated.
“I saw you heading out for a walk this morning,” he said as he took his own seat. “Checking out what our town has to offer?”
Had he been spying on her? “Actually, I went out and gathered up the materials to make my own broom. There’s still a lot of cleaning to do, and I didn’t want to wear yours down to a nub.” She smiled. “Besides, me and Kip needed to get out in the fresh air and sunshine for a bit after stirring up all that dust and dirt this morning.”
He raised a brow. “You’re making a broom.”
Why did he sound so surprised? “It’s not difficult. The hardest part is finding a stick that’s straight enough and sturdy enough to serve as the handle.” She’d learned to be resourceful, not to mention frugal, in the time she’d spent traveling with her father.
Then she remembered the other reason she was here. “I spotted some dewberry vines out behind the schoolyard when Father and I were here before.” She smiled, pleased with herself. “’Course, most of them won’t ripen for another week or so, but there were some that were ready to pick. I gathered up a bunch and they made for a right tasty breakfast.”
Something flickered in his expression, but she couldn’t quite read what it was. Not that it mattered. She handed him the cloth-wrapped bundle. “And I brought you some, as well.”
He didn’t seem particularly eager as he accepted her gift.
“I assure you that wasn’t necessary,” he said. “All I did was loan you a broom.”
“And brought me supper last night.” Daisy watched him unwrap the cloth. “Anyway, it’s not much. But they are quite tasty.” She didn’t believe in not returning favors. “Thank the good Lord there’s a plentiful crop of them this year.”
He stared at her offering for a moment without saying anything. Was something wrong?
“It’s quite kind of you,” he said, finally looking back up. “But shouldn’t you keep them for yourself?”
Was he feeling sorry for her? That wouldn’t do at all—she wanted friendship and respect, not pity. “Don’t you like dewberries?” She couldn’t quite keep the starch out of her tone.
“I don’t believe I’ve ever tasted them. It’s just—”
“Then it’s settled,” she said firmly. “I can pick more when they ripen—the vines are thick with them.”
Looking for a way to change the subject, she blurted out the first thing that came to mind. “Do you have any idea what sort of business used to be in my place?”
“I haven’t a clue. Someone who’s been in Turnabout a lot longer than I have could probably tell you.”
That confirmed something she’d already guessed. “So you’re not from around here?”
He spread his hands. “I’ve only settled here recently. I lived in Philadelphia before that.”
“Philadelphia. That’s over on the east coast, isn’t it?”
He nodded. “It is.”
She’d seen a map of the entire country once, and the east coast seemed a far piece from Texas. “So how’d you end up way out here?”
His expression closed off again. “Just looking for a change of scenery.” He straightened a few papers on his desk. “So what do you have left to do?”
Had she gotten too nosy? Curiosity was a weakness of hers. “I’ve sorted through most of the furnishings downstairs, but I’m sorry to say most of what was in there wasn’t fit for anything but firewood. There were a few pieces worth salvaging, though. And I found an old bed frame upstairs that’ll be good as new once I get some new rope to string it with and some ticking. I figure I can collect some straw and then stuff me a fresh mattress. Before you know it, I’ll have a proper bed to sleep on.”
He shifted in his chair when she mentioned her bed. Her grandmother would chide her for being so indelicate.
She’d best change the subject again. “Do you know of anyone looking for help? I need to find a way to earn some money.”
He leaned back in his chair. “What kind of work are you qualified to do?”
Something about the way he asked the question got her back up. “I can cook, clean, do laundry—I’ll take just about any honest labor I can find. I’m not afraid of hard work or of getting my hands dirty.”
“I haven’t heard of anything, but you might want to check with Doug Blakely over at the mercantile. His store seems to be a gathering place for most of the townsfolk, so if anyone’s looking, Doug’s probably heard about it. In the meantime, how do you plan to get by?”
Now who was being nosy? “Don’t you worry about me. I have a roof over my head, and I know how to live off the land when I need to. Besides those berries, there are plenty of edible roots and plants around here if you know what you’re looking for.”
“You can hardly live entirely on berries and roots for very long.”
A gent like him probably didn’t have any idea what it meant to go hungry for days at a time. “You’d be surprised what a body can live on when one has to. I also plan to set me up a little kitchen garden out behind my place. I’m especially eager to plant some herbs. Not only will they add flavor to my meals, but I use some in my concoctions.”
“Concoctions?”
“Yes. I make balms and potions to keep on hand for cuts and burns and such. Father calls them my concoctions.”
“And is that something you sell?”
“Oh, no. It’s mostly for personal use, though I’ve given some away when I saw a need.” She lifted her head proudly. “Some of those folks have asked to buy more from me, though.” She shrugged self-consciously. “But I don’t really feel right taking money for healing potions.”
“It appears you are a woman of many talents.” The sarcasm in his tone killed any chance that she would think he was paying her a compliment.
But she chose to ignore his lack of manners. Instead, she gave him her sunniest smile. “That’s kind of you to say. And you’ll see the proof of that when I open my restaurant.”
* * *
Everett realized he’d been harsher with his new neighbor than the situation warranted. But she’d apparently misread his tone. He glanced down at her offering of berries, and his conscience tweaked at him again. “Speaking of a job,” he said impulsively, “I can’t offer you anything full-time, but I do have a proposal for you.”
This time she leaned forward eagerly, apparently ready to forgive his earlier rudeness. “What did you have in mind?”
He was beginning to rethink his impulse, but it was too late to back out now. “Since you say you’re a good cook, what do you think about cooking for me?
“Really?”
Her hopeful expression brushed away the last of his hesitation. Besides, what could it hurt? “I’m the first to admit I’m not much of a cook myself, and I’m getting tired of the few dishes I’ve learned to prepare. I can’t pay you much, say two bits a day, but if you did the marketing and cooking for me, you could also share in the meal.” At least this way he wouldn’t have the distraction of worrying about her not having enough to eat.
She smiled at him as if he’d just handed her the keys to the town. Did that mean she’d forgotten his earlier rudeness?
“That’s more than generous,” she said. “And you won’t be sorry—cooking is something I’m good at. You’ll see.”
She folded her hands in her lap and struck what he supposed she thought of as a businesslike pose. “Just to make certain I understand what you’re wanting, are you looking for me to provide three meals a day, seven days a week?”
He waved a hand. “I believe I can get by with something a little less all-encompassing. I was thinking six days a week, with Sundays off. I’ll manage my own breakfast. And I’m not averse to eating the same thing twice, so if you prepare a large enough meal at noon, I can dine on leftovers for the evening meal.”
“That’s agreeable. When would you like me to start?”
“Is tomorrow too soon?”
“Not at all.” Then she fingered her collar. “Do you have much of a larder?”
“It would probably be best if you start from scratch and pick up anything you think you’ll need. I’ll leave the menus up to you. And I’ll let the shopkeepers know to put your orders on my tab.”
“Good. And don’t worry, I know how to be frugal with my purchases.”
A good quality, but he should make certain they were both working under the same definition of acceptable spending. “I will develop what I consider a reasonable budget for your weekly purchases. If there should arise a situation where you require more, we can always revisit the matter.”
“Agreed.” Apparently, she was finished with the businesswoman persona, because her face split into another of those delighted smiles. “Mr. Fulton, I’m beginning to think of you as my guardian angel.”
Now there was something he’d never been called before. And it was definitely not something he aspired to be.
“Not only is this job going to give me some security,” she continued, “but since you’ll only need me for part of the day, I’ll have time to find other odd jobs, as well.”
Other jobs? Did she even realize what she was saying? “That’s an admirably industrious attitude, but I imagine just getting your place in shape will take up most of your free time, at least for a while.”
She waved a hand as if that was of no consequence. “I’ll have to just fit that in when I can. Like I said, I need to earn some money, not just for staples, but to get my place furnished properly. Because the sooner I can open my restaurant, the better.”
She was back to that again. Oh, well, far be it from him to harp on a point once he’d made it. “If you’re serious about finding another job, as I said before, check down at Blakely’s Mercantile.”
“Thanks. I’ll do that.” She stood. “Now I’ll get out of your way. I know you’re busy, and I have some more work to do over at my place. Besides, I’ve made Kip wait on me long enough.”
Would the rest of her meals today consist of nothing more than a handful of berries? “I was thinking, Miss Johnson, that I might do an interview with you for the paper.”
“With me?” She seemed genuinely startled at the idea.
“It’s not every day someone new moves to town and sets up shop.” Although that’s exactly what he and his companions from Philadelphia had done less than a year ago.
He saw her hesitation and pressed further. “It would be doing me a favor. I’m always looking for something fresh to print in the paper.”
Her face puckered as she contemplated his words. Then she gave him a doubtful look. “If you really think it will help you...”
He jumped in, not giving her time to change her mind. “Wonderful. Let’s discuss this over supper tonight. The hotel has a small restaurant where we can go. And eating there has the added bonus of giving you an opportunity to check out your future competition.” Not that he truly expected her to ever open her own restaurant.
“All right, I’ll do it.”
“And of course it will be my treat, since I am imposing on you for this interview.”
She fingered her collar. “That’s not necessary. I—”
He schooled his features in his haughtiest expression. “I assure you, for a business meal such as this, it’s customary for the reporter to pay.”
She studied him as if not quite believing him. But he didn’t relax his expression, and she finally nodded.
“Good. I’ll stop by your place at six o’clock, and we can walk to the hotel together if that’s agreeable.” Even though he’d concocted the idea on the spur of the moment to see that she had a meal this evening, he was fully prepared to take advantage of the opportunity to practice his reporting skills. This wouldn’t be a very challenging interview subject, but at least it would give him something interesting to write about.
Then he gave her a severe look. “And please, leave your dog at home.”
Chapter Four
“So let’s start with where you’re from. Originally, I mean.”
Daisy shifted, uncomfortable with Mr. Fulton’s scrutiny and with having to talk about her background. She sat across from him in the hotel dining room, trying to decide if there was some polite way for her to get out of this. After all, she’d come to Turnabout to make a fresh start, not dredge up the past.
Still, he’d been kind to her, and this was the first thing he’d actually asked from her in return. Determined to focus on his kindness, she sat up straighter and smiled. “If you’re asking where I was born, it was in a little community called Bluewillow, Texas. I didn’t live there long, though.”
He scribbled a few strokes, then glanced up again. “Well, then, where did you grow up?”
“We traveled around a lot—Father was a peddler, even then. Most of the time, our wagon was our home. Then, when I was about four, my mother’s health began to go downhill, and traveling became difficult for her. So the two of us went to live with her mother while she tried to recuperate.”
“And where was that?”
“New Orleans.” Daisy brushed at the tablecloth, smoothing away a wrinkle. That wasn’t a part of her life she wanted to elaborate on. “Do you think the folks around here are really going to want to read about this stuff?”
His smile had a cynical twist to it. “I find that people everywhere have an infinite curiosity about the lives of others.” He poised his pencil over his pad again. “How much time did you spend in New Orleans?”
“Eight years.” Eight of the most smothering, uncomfortable years of her life. “Then I went back to traveling with my father.”
“Only you? What about your mother?”
Daisy nudged the lamp on the table about a quarter inch, not quite meeting his gaze. “She passed on when I was eight.”
“I’m sorry.”
There seemed to be genuine sympathy in his voice.
“Thank you,” she said. “Mother was a good person, you know, the kind who always tries to see the best in everyone. She was real pretty, too. Want to see?” Without waiting for his answer, she lifted the locket from beneath her bodice, then slipped the chain over her head. Opening the catch, she smiled at the picture, then handed it to Everett.
He studied the picture for a moment, his expression unreadable, then handed it back to her. “You’re right. She was quite lovely.”
Daisy carefully slipped the locket back over her head, feeling slightly disappointed at his lack of reaction. “What about you? I mean, I know you don’t have a locket, but do you have any kind of pictures or likenesses of your family?”
“No. Now let’s get back to the interview.”
She smothered a groan. If only the meal would come so they could end his string of uncomfortable questions.
“If I’m doing the calculations properly,” he continued, “it sounds as if you spent another four years with your grandmother after your mother passed on.”
“That’s right. Father thought it best to wait until I was older to resume traveling with him.” She tried not to dwell on that.
“Understandable.”
That pronouncement stung. It hadn’t been understandable to the grieving child she’d been. To her, it had felt like a second abandonment.
But Everett was already moving on to his next question. “Once you resumed traveling with your father, did you enjoy it?”
Daisy relaxed. This was a topic she was happy to talk about. “Very much. It gave me a chance to meet lots of wonderful people and to see places I’d never have seen otherwise. There are so many interesting folk out there, and they all have their own story to tell.”
“Stories? Now you sound like a reporter.”
She grinned. “Not at all. I’d be too fascinated listening to what they had to say, I’d forget to write anything down.”
His smile warmed for just a moment, then he seemed to come to himself, and he resumed his cynically amused expression. “If you enjoyed all that traveling, why did you decide to settle down?”
“Because I’m not twelve anymore.” She leaned forward. “Because I want friends and a family of my own and to be part of a close-knit community.”
“So why here?”
“Simple—because this is where there was a place that I owned the deed to.” She realized how flippant that sounded. “But I’m glad that was the case,” she added quickly. “Turnabout seems like a nice town with lots of friendly folk. A good place to put down roots.”
“You speak as if you plan to make Turnabout your permanent home.”
Hadn’t he heard anything she’d told him the past twenty-four hours? “I sincerely hope so.”
“You don’t think you’ll miss the traveling life?”
She understood why he’d ask that, but he’d learn eventually that she wasn’t that girl any longer. “Not at all. I’ve discovered I’m more of a homebody than I thought.” Assuming she found the right home. “The idea of setting down roots, creating a cozy homeplace, someday starting a family of my own—well, that kind of life has a whole lot of appeal to me.”
“Does that mean that after you went back on the road with your father, you found yourself missing the life you had with your grandmother?”
She gave a snort of disagreement before she could stop herself. He was so far off the mark, it was laughable. But his raised brow indicated she might have revealed a little more than she’d intended. “My grandmother’s home wasn’t exactly the warm, loving household that I’m hoping to build for myself.”
“Would you care to elaborate?”
She met his gaze without blinking. “No.”
“I see.” He stared at her a moment longer, as if trying to read answers in her face. Then he moved on. “Would you like to talk about the restaurant you hope to open someday? Or would you rather wait until you’re closer to making it a reality before spreading the news of your intentions?”
Daisy was surprised but pleased that he hadn’t pressed her. “Oh, I don’t mind. I want folks to know what they have to look forward to.” She leaned forward again, trying her best to communicate her vision. “I don’t intend to make it all fancy and highfalutin. I want folks to feel comfortable and happy when they walk in. I’m going to serve hearty, homey food that fills the belly and warms the soul, because that’s what I do best. And I’m going to paint the place in bright cheery colors and have flowers on all the tables.”
“That’s fine for this time of year, but it might be hard to do during the winter.”
That was just like him to look for gray clouds in a sunny sky. To her relief, the food arrived just then, saving her from further inquisition.
At least for the moment.
* * *
Everett set his pencil and pad aside as the waitress fussed with serving their food.
The interview so far had raised as many questions about her as it had answered. The way she’d described her planned restaurant was indicative of how little business sense she had. She’d focused on feelings and cosmetics instead of a sound plan to achieve her goals.
She’d said she was looking for, among other things, a family of her own. So that indicated she was looking for a husband. Which probably meant the restaurant idea was only something to get her by until she had a man to provide for her.
She hadn’t wanted to discuss her time at her grandmother’s, yet she hadn’t been happy traveling with her father, either. What was she really looking for? Did she even know herself? And would she be able to find it in Turnabout? Or would she only face disappointment and find herself moving on once again?
As soon as their waitress departed, and before he could resume his questions, Daisy beat him to the punch.
“So is it my turn for questions?” she asked with a teasing smile.
He raised a brow, not at all certain that would be a good idea. Better to treat her question lightly. “Are you planning to write an article for the paper, too? I thought you said you weren’t good at writing things down.”
“Don’t worry. I’m not looking to give you competition, just trying to satisfy my curiosity.” Her smile broadened. “You’re not afraid to get a taste of your own medicine, are you?”
He couldn’t let that veiled challenge pass. “What do you want to know?”
“How did a particular gent like you end up here in Turnabout?”
A particular gent? He wasn’t sure what that meant. And more important, had she intended it as a compliment or criticism?
Better not to ask. “Before I came here, I was a reporter for a newspaper in Philadelphia. Unfortunately, the editor and I had a falling out. When I learned of an opportunity to actually own my own newspaper business here, I jumped at it.” Mainly because that was the only option open to him at the time. There was nothing to be gained by mentioning the scandal he’d been involved in, the scandal that had cost him nearly everything. And deservedly so.
“So how’d you hear about this great opportunity? I mean, I wouldn’t think most folks in Philadelphia have even heard of Turnabout.”
Everett decided being on this end of an interview wasn’t nearly the same as being on the other. “A friend of mine has some connections here—a granddaughter, as a matter of fact. He knew I was looking for something different, and he told me about it.” He raised a brow. “Anything else?” he asked in his chilliest tone.
“Do all the folks in Philadelphia talk like you do?”
Was she being deliberately impertinent or merely trying to make conversation? “My accent, you mean?” She’d probably never heard a British accent before. “Actually, I lived in England until I was twelve.”
Her hands stilled, and her eyes widened. “Oh, my goodness. You crossed the ocean when you were twelve?”
That part of his life seemed a dream now. Or should he say a nightmare? He wondered if his father had ever given him another thought once he’d sent him and his mother away.
He smiled at her reaction. “I didn’t do it alone.” Then he locked his gaze with hers. “And no, I’m not going to discuss my life before arriving in America with you, so you may as well move on.”
She gave him an arch smile, or at least her version of one. “Keeping secrets of your own, are you? I guess we all have them.” She didn’t seem unduly bothered by his words. “So, moving on to another topic, what about family?”
Best to stick to the living. “I have a sister.”
Her expression softened. “I always wished I had a sister or brother. Is she older or younger than you?”
“Much younger. And before you ask, she’s attending a boarding school in Boston.” He pointedly stabbed a chunk of potato with his fork. He’d had enough. “Now, why don’t we put aside the interrogation and eat our meal before it gets cold.”
She held his gaze for a few moments, and he could almost see her trying to decide whether or not to push forward. She finally nodded, and they both turned their focus on their food without another word.
After several minutes Everett relented, but there was no more talk of a personal nature. “Have you had that dog of yours very long?” he asked.
Her stiffness eased, and her smile returned. Apparently he’d found a question she didn’t mind answering.
“No. As a matter of fact, we’re brand-new friends. I’d only been on the road to Turnabout for a couple of hours when Kip showed up and took to following me. I checked with folks at a couple of the farms I passed, and no one laid claim to him. Which was okay with me. He was friendly, and I was happy for the company.”
He imagined a woman traveling alone would be—especially at night. He still couldn’t believe her father hadn’t taken the time to escort her back here. The man should be horse whipped.
“He’s barely left my side since,” she added as she reached for her glass.
“And you plan to keep him?”
She seemed surprised by the question. “Of course. Like I said, we’re friends now. As long as Kip wants to stick around, he’s welcome to do so.”
Everett resisted the urge to shake his head. He could understand her wanting the animal’s companionship and protection while she was on the road. But now that she was settled in and trying to establish herself, couldn’t she see he would only be a drain on her limited resources?
But he’d said his piece. If she was an overly sentimental sort, then that was her problem.
The rest of the meal passed pleasantly enough. He was even forced to grudgingly admit, at least to himself, that Daisy could be a pleasant companion when she tried to be.
Later that evening, after he’d seen Daisy to her door and she’d promised to show up about nine o’clock the following morning since it was her first day, Everett returned to his own office.
He settled at his desk where he went to work transcribing his interview notes into an article. Tomorrow was Friday, one of the two days a week the paper went out. Tuesday was the other. That meant he had a long night ahead of him. Luckily, he’d already set aside space on the second page for his interview with Miss Johnson. He just had to craft his article so that it fit the allotted space.
As he wrote the article, he thought about what he’d learned from the sketchy details she’d given him. She was an optimist and a dreamer, that much was clear. And she wasn’t afraid of hard work. She had a certain amount of courage, too, as evidenced by her striking out on her own, on foot, with nothing but what she could carry to start her new life with. But did she really have it in her to stick with a project like this and see it all the way through?
He was certain there was more to the story of the time she’d spent with her grandmother than she’d been willing to tell him. That hint of a story to uncover intrigued him.
Then there was her idea of opening a restaurant. That was reaching a bit high, especially for a female with no experience running a business. To make a go of it, she would need more than optimism and elbow grease. She would need financial reserves and business acumen, neither of which he saw much evidence of in her.
No, it would be much more practical if Miss Johnson took on a permanent job as cook for some family in town who needed her more than he did. And once he was satisfied he could vouch for her expertise, he would be willing to give her a recommendation to help her find such a position.
That should fulfill his obligation to see her settled properly.
Perhaps then he could get back to life as usual.
* * *
Daisy settled onto her makeshift bed, tired but pleased with the recent turn of events. It had been a long day, but she’d gotten a lot accomplished. This storeroom that still served as her bedchamber was now clean as a rain-washed wildflower. She’d crafted a broom of her own and rigged up some of the broken crates and furnishings to serve as temporary tables and chairs. She’d traded the telling of her tale for a satisfying meal, and she’d landed herself a job without having to look too hard.
All in all, a good day.
Daisy rolled over on her side. She was still having trouble figuring out Mr. Fulton. He could be so nice at times, and at others...
Even when he was being nice, he had that snippy, amused air about him that was just downright irritating.
The snooty tone he’d used when he asked if she intended to keep Kip still irked her. What she should have told him was that if given the choice between Kip’s company and his, she’d likely pick Kip's.
I know that’s not a very charitable thought, Lord, especially since I have him to thank for my meal and my job, but something about that man just riles me up. I can’t abide a person who’s constantly looking for warts rather than dimples.
She thought about that for a moment, then winced at her ungrateful attitude.
That was a poor excuse for an excuse, wasn’t it, Lord? You tell us to judge not, and here I go judging again. And we both know I’ve got a wagonload of faults myself, so I’ve got no call to go throwing stones. I promise to try to do better in that regard. Just be patient with me if I slip again. And I’ll add him to my prayers. He obviously has some kind of bee in his bonnet, and he could use some help to learn how to look for the good things around him. Maybe he just needs someone to show him the way.
Feeling better, she settled down more snugly on her bedroll. Starting tomorrow, Mr. Fulton was going to be a part of her daily life and she a part of his. If this was her purpose for being here, then she aimed to tackle it with all the enthusiasm at her disposal.
Mr. Fulton was going to learn how to shed some of that stiff-necked, snobbish air of his, or her name wasn’t Daisy Eglantine Johnson.
Chapter Five
“Good morning, Mr. Fulton. You got those papers ready for me?” Jack Barr, Adam and Reggie’s adopted son, stood in the doorway of Everett’s office. Ira Peavy, the Barrs’ live-in handyman and sometimes photography assistant to Reggie, stood behind him.
Everett smiled a greeting at the pair. “That, I do. Your stack is the one closest to the door.”
Jack pulled a red wooden wagon into the building and started loading papers into the bed.
When he’d first opened the newspaper office, Everett had hired Jack to take care of making household deliveries to his regular subscribers. Of course, Ira Peavy usually went along, too, ostensibly to provide Jack with some company.
Everett exchanged greetings with Ira, then looked past the man to see the faint hint of the approaching dawn. He prided himself on having the paper available when his patrons started their day.
“You’ll find one extra paper in your stack,” he told Jack. “Mr. Cummings over on Second Street started subscribing this week.”
“Yes, sir, I’ll add him to the list.”
As they loaded the last of the papers, Everett reached into his pocket and pulled out a coin. “Here’s this week’s pay.”
Jack’s eyes lit up. “Thanks!”
Ira placed his hand on the boy’s shoulder. “We’d best be on our way if you want to get these deliveries done before school starts.”
As soon as they departed, Everett grabbed the other three bundles of papers waiting by the door. In addition to the copies he printed for his subscribers, he always printed a number of extras. Those who chose not to subscribe often purchased copies when they were out running errands.
He kept some of those copies here at his office, of course, but he’d also made arrangements with the proprietors at the mercantile, hotel and railroad depot to sell copies in exchange for a small portion of the purchase price.
He stepped out on the sidewalk and exchanged greetings with Tim Hill, the town’s lamplighter. Tim was in the process of turning off the streetlight outside the newspaper office, which meant Everett was right on schedule. Punctuality was a virtue he considered an indication of character.
As he walked through town delivering the bundles of papers to the appropriate locations, he took time to visit the merchants where Daisy would need to make purchases for her role as his cook. As he’d promised her, he instructed them to bill her purchases to him.
That request raised questions, naturally, but he offered up only the bare information that he had hired her to cook for him. Anything else they wanted to know about her, they’d have to ask her.
By the time he returned to his office, a light was shining in Daisy’s downstairs window. So she was already up and about. Was she looking forward to her first day working for him? Or dreading it?
At precisely ten minutes after nine, Daisy walked into his office. He supposed that was as close to punctual as he should expect from her.
“Good morning, Mr. Fulton,” she said by way of greeting.
Everett stood and moved around the desk as he returned her greeting. She carried a heavily laden basket on her arm, but didn’t seem unduly burdened by it.
“I enjoyed doing the marketing today. There are some fine shops here, and most of the shopkeepers seem willing to negotiate a bit. And don’t worry, I was very frugal with your money, but I think you’ll be pleased with the results.”
The woman did like to chatter. “As long as you stay within the budget we discussed, I won’t have any complaints on that score.”
She patted the basket. “I got a good deal on a couple of rabbits at the butcher shop. I hope you like rabbit stew. It’s one of my specialties.”
Was she looking for some kind of approval or praise? That wasn’t really his way of doing business. “As I said, the meal planning is in your hands. I’m sure whatever you cook will be an improvement over what I’ve been preparing for myself.”
She grinned. “Not the most enthusiastic response, but I hope to win you over with my cooking.”
Surely no one could be this cheerful all the time? “I look forward to your attempts.”
She spotted the small stack of newspapers near the door. “Are those your papers?”
“Of course.” What else would they be? “It’s this morning’s edition of the Turnabout Gazette.”
She eyed them as if not sure she wanted to get any closer. “Is that interview of me in there?”
Was she worried about how he’d portrayed her? “Yes, it is.” He crossed over and picked one up. “Would you like to have one so you can read it?”
Her cheeks reddened slightly. “I’m afraid I don’t have any extra money to—”
“Consider a copy of the paper part of your pay.” He always had a few copies left over at the end of the day.
“Why, thank you.”
This talk of extra funds brought something else to mind. He cleared his throat. “I daresay there are other things you might need to get settled in properly, so when you are done for the day I will give you your first week’s pay in advance.”
Her cheeks reddened. “Oh, that’s not necessary. I—”
He held up a hand. “No argument. I won’t have my cook distracted by thoughts of how she’ll make it through the week. And use this money wisely, because I’ll do this only for the first week.”
She smiled. “Thank you for your thoughtfulness.”
He brushed that aside. “Now, let me show you to the kitchen.” Everett took the basket from her, then waved her ahead of him up the stairs.
She stepped aside when she topped the stairs, pausing to look around. The stairway emptied into an open space that served multiple functions. To the left was the kitchen and dining area, and to the right was what passed for a sitting room or visitor area. Not that he ever had visitors up here. Beyond the sitting room were the two bedchambers, one of which currently served as more of a storage room. It did have a small bed—more of a cot, really—but he didn’t expect to be hosting overnight guests anytime soon.
Everett placed her basket on the table and she moved past him, her gaze sweeping the room.
“This kitchen is nice,” she said. “A bit spare but clean and neat. It gives me hope for what my place might look like once I get it fixed up.”
How bad was it over there? If what he’d seen of the ground floor was any indication, she really had her work cut out for her.
Daisy ran a hand lightly over the edge of the stove. “Yes, sir, a fine kitchen, indeed. This is a good stove. And you already have the fire stoked. Thanks!”
Everett waved his hand in an inclusive gesture. “The dishes are in the top cupboard, the pots and pans are over there, and the cooking implements are in that drawer. This door opens to the pantry. Feel free to use anything you find there.”
She nodded as she peered inside.
He straightened. “I should warn you, the stove is a bit temperamental.” Something he knew from his own less-than-successful attempts at making biscuits.
She closed the pantry door and smiled. “Most stoves take some getting used to. I’m just happy to have a real stove to cook on instead of a campfire.”
That statement gave him pause. “But you do have experience with a household stove, don’t you?”
“Of course. When I lived with my grandmother I spent a lot of my time in the kitchen, and I pestered the cook until she gave in and taught me all about cooking.”
“So you haven’t used one since you were twelve years old?”
“Not so. During the worst of winter each year, my father would find a town where we could rent rooms for about six weeks, rather than live in the wagon. To help pay for our lodging, and replenish our wares, he would find odd jobs and I’d find work in a kitchen somewhere.”
That admission caught him by surprise. “So this isn’t your first time to hire on as a cook?”
“Goodness, no. I told you, I know what I’m doing.”
That remained to be seen. But he’d had enough of idle talk—time to return to his work. “I’ll leave you to it, then. There’s extra kindling and firewood for the stove in that corner. If you need anything else, you know where to find me.”
He descended the stairs, accompanied by the sound of her cheerful humming. Was he going to have to put up with that all morning?
He supposed there were worse distractions he could be presented with.
Still, it didn’t seem quite normal for someone to be so relentlessly cheerful all the time, especially someone with her less-than-ideal circumstances.
Before he’d made it back to his desk, his door opened and Alma Franklin walked in, looking for a paper. She glanced toward the stairway at the sound of Daisy’s humming, and mentioned that she’d heard he’d hired a cook and asked how that was working out for him. Right on her heels, Stanley Landers came in, also looking for a paper, and he also commented on his new cook.
It was that way for the next hour—a steady stream of people either wanting to buy a paper or checking on notices that were already scheduled or purchasing advertisements. And all of them found a way to work Daisy’s presence into the conversation. At least the townsfolk’s curiosity had generated a few new sales. At this rate, he’d be sold out by noon.
Around ten-thirty, he caught the whiff of a mouthwatering aroma drifting down from his kitchen. Thirty minutes later, the aromas began to tease and tantalize his senses in earnest. Perhaps she really was as good a cook as she claimed to be.
When Everett finally got a break, just before noon, he considered heading upstairs to check on Daisy. She hadn’t left the kitchen all morning, and he wanted to assure himself she was handling things appropriately.
But his door opened once more and Hazel Andrews, the very prim woman who owned the dress shop, marched in with her usual brisk, no-nonsense air. “Good morning, Mr. Fulton.”
“Miss Andrews.” He waved her into a seat, then took his own. “What can I do for you?”
She sat poker straight in her chair, but her smile, while small, seemed genuine enough. “I was at the train station dropping off a package to ship to my sister,” she said, “when Lionel told me he had a letter for you. I offered to deliver it since I had business with you, anyway.”
Everett accepted the letter and placed it on his desk with barely a glance. “What kind of business?”
The seamstress looked pointedly at the letter. “I don’t mind waiting if you’d like to read your letter first.”
“I’ll read it later.” He could tell it was from his sister, and he’d prefer to save it for a time when he could read it alone to savor it.
Miss Andrews nodded. “On to business, then. I’m planning to run a sale on my dressmaking services next week. I’d like to buy an advertisement in the paper to announce it.”
Everett opened his notebook and reached for a pencil. He was always happy to sell advertisements. “I can certainly accommodate you. What size were you thinking of?”
Once they’d discussed the particulars of the advertisement, Miss Andrews sat back, apparently ready for some casual conversation. “I hear you’ve hired your new neighbor to cook for you.”
So even the straightlaced seamstress was interested in the town’s newest citizen. Everett closed his notebook and nodded. “That’s right. She needed the work, and I was tired of eating my own cooking.”
His visitor nodded approval. “Sounds like a practical arrangement.” Then she changed the subject. “It’ll be good to see that place next door all fixed up again. Any idea what Miss Johnson plans to do with the place?”
Everett repeated the same answer he’d given to everyone else this morning. “She mentioned plans to open a restaurant in the interview you’ll find in today’s newspaper. Other than that, you’ll have to ask her.”
She lifted her head and sniffed delicately. “I must say, if that aroma is from whatever Miss Johnson is preparing for you, she would likely do quite well as a restaurant cook.”
The pesky creak that signaled someone was on the stairs sounded, and they both turned toward it.
“Mr. Fulton, I—” Daisy looked toward his visitor and paused. “Oh, sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”
Everett and Miss Andrews both stood.
“Miss Johnson.” The dressmaker stepped forward. “Allow me to introduce myself. I’m Hazel Andrews, owner of the dress shop down the street.”
“Pleased to meet you, ma’am. I’ve walked by your place a few times. From what I can see through your shop window, you do beautiful work.”
“Why, thank you.” The seamstress studied Daisy with a critical eye. “If you’d like to come in for a fitting, I’d be glad to set up an appointment for you.”
“Thank you for the offer,” Daisy said with an apologetic smile. “As tempting as it sounds, I’m afraid purchasing new clothes is going to have to wait until I’ve taken care of other, more pressing matters.”
The dressmaker tightened the strings to her handbag and nodded. “I understand.” She gave Daisy a head-to-toe look. “Just keep in mind that appearances set the tone for a business relationship as well as a personal one.”
Everett stiffened. Her tone had been friendly enough, but the words carried a barb. Had Daisy felt it?
Then Miss Andrews turned back to him. “I assume I can look for the advertisement to run in the next issue of the Gazette.”
“Of course.” Everett still had his mind on how her words might have affected Daisy as he gave her a short bow of dismissal. “And thank you for delivering the letter.”
Once the door closed behind the dressmaker, Everett turned to Daisy. He still didn’t detect any hint of distress or affront in her expression. Perhaps he’d overreacted. “Was there something you needed?”
She blinked, as if just remembering her errand. “Yes, of course. I wanted to tell you your meal is ready to be served. But there’s no need to rush upstairs if you’re busy. I’ll just keep it warm until you’re ready for it.”
“Thank you. I’ll join you there in a moment.”
He waited until she had started up the stairs to open his letter, smiling in anticipation. Abigail’s letters reflected her personality—they were chatty, exuberant and overly dramatic. He unfolded the missive and leaned back in his chair, prepared to be entertained.
* * *
Daisy set the table for the two of them and then ladled the stew into a serving bowl.
Had Miss Andrews offered to make her an appointment just to drum up business? Or did she think Daisy’s clothing was really that awful? Daisy hadn’t wasted time worrying about her wardrobe since she’d left her grandmother’s. Function was what mattered, and the pieces she had—this skirt, two shirtwaists and her Sunday dress—had that going for them.
In fact, one of the things she’d disliked about living in her grandmother’s home was the emphasis everyone placed on appearances. Daisy had vowed to leave all that behind her when she left there. Nowadays, as long as her clothing was serviceable and modest, she didn’t give it much deeper consideration.
But Miss Andrews’s words had given her pause. She was planning to be a businesswoman now. Perhaps it was time she gave such things a little more consideration.
Her musings were interrupted by the sound of Everett on the stairs.
“It smells good,” he said as he entered the kitchen.
Her mood lightened at his praise. “Thanks.” Then she felt the need to give a disclaimer. “I’m afraid the bread is a bit scorched, though. It may take me a couple of tries to get a feel for your oven.”
“I daresay you’re right. But I’m sure the rest of the meal will be fine.”
Coming from him, she supposed that was praise of a sort. Daisy placed the stew and bread platter on the table. “I have apple pie for dessert. And I’m pleased to say it hardly got scorched at all.”
He took his seat without comment, and she sat across from him.
When he reached for the bread platter, however, she cleared her throat. “Would you like to say the blessing before we start?”
Everett slowly drew his hand back and gave her an unreadable look. “Why don’t you perform that service for us?”
Was he the sort who didn’t like to pray in public? She hadn’t thought of him as the reticent sort. But she nodded and bowed her head. “Heavenly Father, we thank You for this food and for all the other blessings of this day. Help us to remain mindful of where our bounty comes from and to whom our praises belong. And keep us ever aware of the needs of others. In Your name we pray. Amen.”
She smiled up at him as he echoed her Amen. “Eat up.”
The silence drew out for several long minutes as they concentrated on their food. Finally, she gave in to the urge to break the silence. “I read that newspaper of yours.”
“Oh?”
“Yes, and I want to thank you for the job you did on that interview. You took my uninteresting life and made it sound, well, plumb interesting.”
He seemed more amused than flattered by her comment. “That’s the job of a good reporter—to find the hidden gem in any story.”
“Hidden gem. I like that.” She pointed her spoon at him, then quickly lowered it. “I didn’t read just the interview, though—I read the entire thing. You did a fine job with all of it.”
“Thank you. I suppose it is fine, for what it is.”
“What it is?” His tone puzzled her.
“Yes—a small town, nothing-ever-happens, two-days-a-week newspaper.”
“So you’re not happy with it.”
“As I said, it’s fine for what it is.” He gave her a pointed look. “Do you mind if we change the subject?”
Why was this such a touchy subject for him? But she obediently reached for another subject and said the first thing that came to mind. “I heard you mention something about a letter. It wasn’t bad news, I hope.” Maybe that’s why he seemed so out of sorts.
He studied her as if searching for some ulterior motive behind her question. She thought for a moment that he would change the subject again.
But then he reached for his glass as he shook his head. “Not at all. It’s a letter from my sister, Abigail.”
Why wasn’t he happier about it? “How nice. The two of you must be close.”
He didn’t return her smile. “She wants to come here for a visit.”
His grim tone puzzled her. “Isn’t that a good thing? I mean, wouldn’t you like to see her?”
“Of course I would.” He took a drink from his glass, then set it back down. “But, as I’ve told her any number of times, it’s better if I go to Boston than if she comes here. Unfortunately, she doesn’t see it that way.”
“But if it’s that important to her, perhaps you could allow her to come here just one time. You know, to satisfy her curiosity.”
His exasperated look told her she’d overstepped her bounds. “For her to come here,” he said, “there are significant arrangements that would need to be made—things such as finding a traveling companion and making certain she doesn’t fall behind in any of her classes. Besides, Turnabout is no place for a girl like Abigail. And there aren’t an abundance of activities to entertain and enlighten her here.”
He broke off a piece of bread with more vigor than was absolutely necessary. “No, it’s much better if I visit her.”
A girl like Abigail? What did that mean? Was his sister one of those spoiled, pampered debutantes like the ones who’d graced her grandmother’s parlor? Girls who never got their hands dirty or even knew what a callus looked like? But that wasn’t a question she’d ask out loud. “Do you plan to do that? Go visit her, I mean.”
“Of course. I traveled to Boston to see her over the Christmas holidays and will make another visit sometime this summer. She and I spend our time going to the theater, visiting museums, attending the opera and whatever else she cares to do.”
Those were the kind of things they enjoyed doing together? “Don’t you two ever go on picnics or take buggy rides through the countryside or just take long walks together?”
“Since my time with Abigail is limited, I always strive to make it count for something.” His demeanor had stiffened, and his accent was more pronounced. “My sister is being raised as a proper lady, not a hoyden. Those activities add to both her education and her social polish. Their entertainment value is merely an added bonus.”
Daisy straightened. She supposed she’d been put in her place. And she’d also gotten the distinct impression that Miss Abigail Fulton might be every bit as stuffy as her brother.
Ah, well, there wasn’t much danger that they would cross paths anytime soon—not if big brother had his way.
* * *
Everett was glad when Daisy finally let the silence settle between them. He didn’t care for all this prying into his personal life. Didn’t she understand there were lines one just did not cross? Someone should sit her down and explain the rules of polite society. Not that he thought it would do any good.
Perhaps she would learn from their interaction.
His thoughts drifted to that prayer she’d voiced earlier. It had surprised him, in both its simplicity and sincerity. He hadn’t heard anyone pray like that outside of church before. It seemed that her faith was a deeply personal one. But then again, he was beginning to see that she approached nearly everything in her life with everything she had.
If she was going to make it on her own, and try to establish a business, she’d have to learn to be more objective and circumspect in her approach.
Perhaps that was something else he could teach her.
Chapter Six
Daisy blew the hair off her forehead as she dried the last of the dishes. There was plenty of stew left over, and it would keep fine on the stove’s warming plate until Mr. Fulton was ready for his evening meal.
She hung the dishrag over the basin, then looked around to check if anything else needed her attention before she headed home. Kip would be ready to go for a walk, and she was eager to get back to work fixing up her new home. But she wouldn’t leave until she’d made certain she met her obligations here.
Mr. Fulton was fastidiously neat, and she was determined to leave the place as orderly as it had been when she arrived, if not more so. And she’d start by arranging his cupboards in a more logical manner. Logical from a cook’s perspective, at any rate.
A freestanding cupboard on the far wall seemed to be the ideal place to store items that were seldom used. She crossed over to it and opened the doors, then smiled when she found it held only a few mismatched cups. She could certainly put it to better use than that. Satisfied, she closed the doors, then paused.
Was that a crack in the wall behind the cupboard? It was mostly in shadow, but as she looked closer, she noticed the crack was perfectly straight.
Then her eyes widened. It was a door, painted over to match the surrounding wall. What with that and the fact that it was mostly hidden by the cupboard, it was easy to overlook.
Why had the door been so cunningly hidden? And what was behind it? It didn’t appear to have been opened in quite some time. Did Everett even know it was here?
The doorknob was behind the cupboard, making it impossible for her to even try to open it. She studied it, hands on her hips, her curiosity growing. After all, who could resist the allure of a hidden door?
Removing her apron, Daisy headed downstairs.
* * *
Everett finished cleaning his printing equipment and arched his back, trying to ease the kink in his muscles. After ten months of trial and error, he finally considered himself proficient with the various aspects of the printing process, though there were some tasks he still didn’t particularly enjoy. Back in Philadelphia, he’d been a respected reporter with a major paper. His job had been to write the stories—getting those stories to print had been someone else’s job, and he’d rarely given it a second thought. But here he was responsible for every aspect of getting the paper out.
Which was another reason he was doing everything in his power to find another position as a reporter for a large newspaper once more.
He wiped his hands on a cloth as that squeaky stair announced Daisy was on her way down. “All done?” he asked, moving toward his desk to get her payment.
“I am.” She glanced at one of his trays of print type. “How come all your letters look backward?”
“That’s the way type is set for printing.” He saw her puzzled look and explained further. “Think of it as looking at a reflection. The type is the mirror image of what the printed page will be.”
Her expression cleared. “Imagine that. So you have to set all those letters into backward words so the print comes out frontward on the paper.”
“Not the most eloquent way of explaining it, but yes.”
She shook her head. “That sounds like it would be difficult to keep straight in your head. I know it would make me go all cross-eyed.”
She did have a colorful way of speaking. “It is a tedious job. I will admit, even after several months at it, I find myself having to focus totally on what I’m doing or I’ll get it wrong.” It had given him a whole new appreciation for professional typesetters. He just hoped he didn’t have to be one much longer.
But enough of this chitchat—he had work to do. “Here are your wages,” he said, handing them over.
She accepted them with a thank-you, but didn’t head for the door as he’d expected.
“Was there anything else?”
“I was wondering if you knew about the door in the wall behind your cupboard?”
What was she talking about? “A door? Are you certain?”
That got her back up. “I know a door when I see one.”
Everett moved toward the stairs. “Show me.”
She marched up ahead of him, then wordlessly waved him toward the far wall.
Everett drew closer to the cupboard, studying the wall behind it. Sure enough, there was the obvious outline of a door. How had he missed spotting it in all the time he’d lived here?
“I take it from your reaction you hadn’t noticed it before.” Daisy was right at his shoulder. “What do you suppose is in there?”
He glanced at her, and she had the grace to blush.
But Everett was curious now, too. “Let me just shift this over so we can find out.”
Everett put his shoulder to the cupboard, waving off her offer of assistance. That done, he grabbed the doorknob and twisted. It was locked. “This cupboard was here when I moved in. I wonder...” He felt along the top of the cupboard, and sure enough, he found a key.
Daisy’s eyes sparkled with excitement. “Must be something mighty important in there to keep it locked up.”
Was she expecting a treasure of some sort? It was more likely to be nothing but a shallow closet. He quickly unlocked and opened the door, but instead of finding the storage space he’d expected, he faced the backside of another door.
“How strange,” Daisy said, her disappointment evident. “It’s not even deep enough to store a sack of flour. Maybe it’s where they kept their brooms.”
“It’s not for storage at all.” He moved aside so she’d have a clearer view. “This back wall is another door. I believe this is an upstairs access between our buildings, with a lock on both sides for privacy.”
“You mean that other door opens from my side?” She studied it closer. “I haven’t reached this far in my cleaning yet, but I can picture just where it might be.”
She straightened. “How about that. The original owners must have been good friends to set this up.”
Everett nodded, still mulling over the implications. “I believe I heard somewhere they were brothers.”
“That makes sense.” Daisy nodded in satisfaction. “Their families probably did a lot of visiting back and forth.”
He dusted his hands. “Either they had a falling out or the new owners valued their privacy when the buildings changed hands.”
“That’s a shame. Neighbors should be, well, neighborly.” She tilted her head thoughtfully. “But there’s no reason we can’t make use of this.”
What in the world was she thinking now? “Miss Johnson, I—”
“How would you feel about leaving the doors open whenever I’m over here cooking?”
Before he could respond, she quickly continued.
“With such easy access, I can work on a few things at my place while the food simmers. And I can even check in on Kip occasionally while I’m at it.”
Somehow that arrangement didn’t seem quite respectable. “I don’t—”
But she wasn’t finished. “Oh, and don’t you worry, I won’t skimp on the work I’m doing for you. I’ll only go over to my place when I’m not needed here.”
He shook his head irritably. “I don’t mind you splitting your time, as long as the meals are prepared properly. But there are proprieties to be observed.”
Her brow furrowed, and then she waved a dismissive hand. “I really can’t see how that would be an issue. After all, I’ll be over here cooking for you just about every day, and we haven’t made a secret of that. What difference can it make if that door is open when I’m at work here?”
It went against the grain with him to give even the appearance of bending the rules of polite society. Still, she was making sense in a roundabout kind of way. “If I agree to this, and I haven’t said I will, then I need your word that that animal of yours stays on your side of the wall.”
“That won’t be a problem.” Her eagerness was palpable. “This would be such a big help to me in getting my place livable more quickly.”
“I suppose there wouldn’t be any harm in it.” Though he still wasn’t fond of the idea. “But only during your working hours. And it would probably be best if we don’t spread the word about this easy access between our apartments. Some individuals might take it amiss.” Did she understand what he was saying?
“Thank you. I promise I’ll handle it just as you say. And don’t worry, I’ll keep my side securely locked when I’m done here for the day, just as propriety dictates.”
Maybe she’d gotten the message, after all.
She straightened. “Now, I’m going right over to my place to see if I can find my door and the key that goes with it. It seems the previous residents really wanted to shut each other out.”
“Family disputes can be among the bitterest.” Everett pushed away the memory of his own father.
She was still studying the door. “If I’m recollecting the layout right, I think there’s a rickety bookcase in front of the door on my end.”
He knew a hint when he heard one. “I suppose you’d like me to help move it.”
But she shook her head. “Oh, no, I was thinking out loud, not asking for help.”
She might say that, but it would be ungentlemanly not to lend a hand after her comment. “Of course. But I’ll accompany you all the same.” Besides, he was curious to see what progress she’d made since the night she’d arrived.
As soon as she opened the door to her place, her dog raced up, tail wagging. He jumped up, planting his front paws on her skirts, and she gave his head an affectionate rub. “Hey, Kip, did you miss me, boy? I promise we’ll go for a walk just as soon as I check something out upstairs.”
The animal was every bit as foolishly cheerful as his mistress.
The front room was mostly bare but surprisingly clean. Daisy had apparently scrubbed the floors and walls until there wasn’t a speck of dirt to be seen. Interesting that she’d worked on the downstairs before the living quarters upstairs.
She caught him looking around, and smiled proudly. “There’s still a lot to be done, but I’m making progress. Right now I’m trying to decide if I want to buy yellow paint or blue paint for the walls. Yellow would be brighter and cheerier, but blue would be more relaxing and remind folks of the blue skies of springtime. What do you think?”
He had a feeling she wasn’t talking about muted shades of those particular colors. “I favor more sophisticated colors, such as white or gray.”
Daisy wrinkled her nose. “Where’s the joy in that?”
Joy? What an odd thing to say about a color choice. But apparently, the question had been moot.
She moved to the stairs and her dog stayed right on her heels, seemingly determined to make up for the time they’d been apart. “I warn you,” she said over her shoulder, “I haven’t done much to fix up the second floor. You’re liable to get a bit of dust and grime on you.”
“I feel sufficiently warned,” he said dryly. Just because he liked to maintain a neat appearance didn’t mean he was averse to a little dirt when there was no help for it.
The upstairs wasn’t as cluttered as the downstairs had been that first night, but it was every bit as dusty and unkempt. Gus had really let the place go. It made him wonder if there were soundness issues with the structure itself. Everett studied the walls and ceilings more closely. But there were no visible water marks or signs of crumbling woodwork.
He followed Daisy to the wall that adjoined his, and sure enough, once you knew where to look, the door was evident. He helped her shift the clutter away from the wall and they discovered the key still in the lock, so finding it wasn’t an issue. When they opened the door they found themselves looking into his apartment.
Her smile widened to a broad grin. “This is wonderful—I’ll be able to get twice as much work done now.”
“Just remember, the dog stays on your side of the wall.”
“Don’t worry, he knows his place.”
Everett very deliberately turned and headed down Daisy’s stairs to make his exit. Regardless of how “neighborly” the prior tenants had been, there would be no use of that adjoining door as a shortcut access other than during her working hours.
He would not do anything to set the local tongues wagging. Regardless of how innocent a person was, perception and reputation were everything.
* * *
After Everett left, Daisy took Kip for a walk. As usual, she grabbed a cloth bag so she’d have something to hold anything edible or useable she found along the way. At the last minute, she remembered she needed to gather the stuffing for her mattress ticking, so she grabbed a larger gunnysack as well.
Once on the edge of town, she let Kip have his head and followed wherever the animal led, only redirecting him when he seemed headed for mischief.
This was only her second day here, if you didn’t count the night she arrived, and already it felt familiar, comfortable. Everything was falling into place just as she’d hoped, even better than she’d thought possible.
She could build a good life here. She’d already made a few acquaintances that, in time, she hoped could bloom into true friendships.
The discovery of that door between her and Mr. Fulton’s places had been exciting, something unexpected and fun. Sharing a secret with him made her feel closer to him somehow, even if he didn’t feel any of that excitement himself.
Too bad her employer-neighbor seemed unable to appreciate a bit of adventure. Did he realize how much he was missing by being so guarded? He seemed to like reporting on what was happening around him much more than experiencing it.
Was that because he’d never felt swept up in the joy of letting his imagination run free, of focusing on the fun in whatever situation you were in? That was probably hard for him to do, what with his inflexible, cynical outlook on things. Instead of looking at that doorway as something fun and exciting, he’d seemed more concerned with how it might look if word got out about it. Looking for warts instead of dimples again.
Then she caught herself up on that thought.
She had no right to judge him. She had no idea what had made him the way he was. Maybe he’d never been taught how to have fun. Or maybe something had happened that made it hard for him to see the silver lining in things.
Well, if that was the case, it was up to her to show him how to relax and not hold on to his need for control so tightly.
Now, if she could just figure out how to accomplish that...
Chapter Seven
Saturday morning, Daisy arrived at Everett’s office a few minutes after nine o’clock. It was a beautiful day and one that promised to be highly productive.
“Good morning,” she said cheerily. “Fine day, isn’t it?”
Her boss glanced up, then went back to looking at his ledger. “I suppose.”
Not a very cheery response. “The butcher had some fine-dressed venison this morning,” she continued. “I hope venison is something you like.” She was already planning the way she would cook it up with a thick, rich onion gravy and some beets and dandelion greens seasoned with bacon on the side.
“Venison is fine.”
He still seemed to be paying little attention to what she was saying. She hefted the basket and tried one more time to get something other than a distracted response. “By the way, I opened the door on my side of the wall when I left this morning. But don’t you worry. I made sure Kip understands he can’t cross the threshold.”
This time he did look up and actually met her gaze. “You made sure...” He gave her a look that seemed to call her sanity into question. “And do you honestly think he understood?”
Maybe drawing him out hadn’t been such a good idea. “He’s actually pretty smart.”
“There’s nothing pretty about him,” he said dryly.
“Mr. Fulton!”
“Sorry.” His tone sounded anything but. “Just see that you reinforce that little talk you two had with some firm discipline if he doesn’t appear willing to follow directions.”
What would he do if she stuck her tongue out at him?
Cheered by the image that evoked, Daisy turned and headed up the stairs. As soon as she set her market basket down, Daisy opened the adjoining door. Kip was sitting there waiting on her, his tail wagging furiously. Daisy stooped down and ruffled the fur on his neck. “Hey, boy. What do you say we prove Mr. High-and-Mighty Fulton wrong? I’ll pop over and visit you occasionally, but I have a job to do so you’ll have to stay over here.”
Kip gave a bark, which she took as agreement, so with one last pat, she stood and returned to her work. Today she was determined to conquer the eccentricities of the stove, and turn out bread rolls that were perfectly golden-brown.
Yes, sir, there would be nothing for her employer to fuss about today.
* * *
All morning, Everett heard the sounds of Daisy bustling around in his kitchen, more often than not humming or singing some cheery song. He could also hear her talking to her mutt, carrying on one-sided conversations as if the raggedy animal could actually understand her words.
He gave in to the urge to go upstairs and check on her at about ten-thirty. It only made sense, he told himself, to make certain things were going as they should with this new arrangement of theirs.
The angle of the adjoining door was such that, once his shoulders topped the second floor, he was able to see through it to her place. Her dog sat at the threshold but, as she’d promised, no part of him was across it. How had she managed to make her pet obey—especially when the food smells were so tempting?
Beyond the animal, he could see enough to tell him that she’d made quite a bit of progress since he’d been up there yesterday. Despite himself, he was impressed with how much she was getting accomplished.
The dog barked. Everett wasn’t sure if it was a greeting or a warning, but it caught Daisy’s attention and she turned, smiling when she spied him.
“Hello. If you’ve come to check on the meal, I’m afraid it’ll be another hour or so until it’s ready.”
Feeling as if he’d been caught doing something he shouldn’t—which was ridiculous—he tugged at his cuff. “Not at all. I just need to fetch something from my room.”
He strode purposefully to his bedchamber, grabbed the notebook he kept by his bedside, then headed back out.
“I want to thank you again for letting me prop these doors open,” she said as he neared the stairs. “I’ve already been able to get quite a bit of work done in my place this morning.” She nodded toward the door. “As you can see, Kip is behaving himself just like I told you he would.”
Everett made a noncommittal sound and, with a nod, headed back downstairs.
When she called him upstairs for the noonday meal, Everett deliberately took his time. No point appearing overeager.
“Your oven and I are getting along much better today,” she said as they took their seats at the table. “You won’t find nary a scorch mark on these rolls.”
Again she asked if he’d like to say grace, and again he passed the task to her. He noticed the speculative look she gave him, but he kept his expression bland. There was no reason for him to explain himself.
He didn’t pray aloud, or pray much at all if you got right down to it. The clergyman who held the living on his father’s estate in England had made certain he was familiar with the Bible and that he attended church services regularly. And for most of his childhood, Everett had been quite faithful to those teachings.
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